February 4, 2003
Lady Grey
Why so much sorrow tonight? Is it my dad, falling slowly to pieces in the room down the hall? Is it Mike, three fourths asleep and too adorable to leave at one this afternoon when I had keys and coat in hand? Or is it me, just me, crying as I listen to Nickelcreek's 'Darkest Hour' on the way back here, back home, to comfort my father and escape school?
I should look at the evening before me and see it stretching with possibility, but instead I see only emptiness. My empty family, my empty ambition, the empty pages my novel seems to plan never to fill, my empty heart, so hungry, so unable to be filled. He is so generous,he is so full, that I am high on him, when he is near. I suffer from the delusion that I, too, am warm and pink with something sweet inside, but I walk away and am pale and drawn and ashes and grey.
To think that I am here and he is there and I am shreds of fabric in the wind and he is a banner, a victory banner billowing in the morning wind, red and gold and glorious.
He told me I was beautiful and I blushed like red wine and bent to pour that liquor into his mouth. We'd share a bottle, but I don't like wine. I'd rather drink him instead.
I drank a mug of Earl Grey in the car, and wondered if it were the tea that burnt my tongue or the remnants of his?
astera at 9:56 p.m.